


Scars

by PaperBodies



Series: tumblr posts [2]
Category: Stranger Things (TV 2016)
Genre: Established Relationship, M/M, Steve Harrington Has Bad Parents, Steve Harrington Needs a Hug, Tenderness
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-15
Updated: 2020-11-15
Packaged: 2021-03-10 02:41:37
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 973
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27566929
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/PaperBodies/pseuds/PaperBodies
Summary: Steve has been to his fair share of therapy in the past few years too, what with the monsters and the Russians and all that time alone in his awful, empty house, but Billy still sees the scars from his past sometimes.
Relationships: Billy Hargrove/Steve Harrington
Series: tumblr posts [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2014972
Comments: 2
Kudos: 118





	Scars

Billy has been to a lot of therapy in the five years since he died, and he feels like he’s dealt with a lot of his anger about his past. He feels less resentment toward his mother and Susan, who both could have made different choices but didn’t, and if he didn’t actually forgive Neil before the fucker drank himself to death, he hardly ever thinks about him anymore, and that’s a kind of freedom. He still goes to therapy every other week because between his shitty homophobic dad, and all the stuff he did while he was possessed by some nightmare creature, and actually dying at the fucking mall of all places, there’s a lot to unpack. He just isn’t as angry about all of it as he used to be.

No, the anger that Billy still feels, that keeps him up at night sometimes, that drives him to the gym a few times a week to beat the shit out of a punching bag, isn’t about his past anymore—it’s about Steve’s past. Steve has been to his fair share of therapy in the past few years too, what with the monsters and the Russians and all that time alone in his awful, empty house, but Billy still sees the scars from his past sometimes. In the way that Steve’s fingers sometimes twitch like he’s going to reach out for Billy, and then he stops himself, like any amount of affection from Steve Harrington could ever be considered too much. In the thin, anxious line between Steve’s eyes when he hands Billy a carefully-wrapped package, which invariably contains something thoughtful and personal and lovely, as if Billy could ever get tired of Steve’s soft, pleased smile when Billy gets a little choked up about one of his stupidly perfect gifts. In the way that Steve sometimes looks at all of it—their apartment near the beach, the cats, even Billy himself—like he’s memorizing them, in case he doesn’t get to keep this, doesn’t _really_ deserve any of it.

What makes Billy the angriest, though, is the silence. The slow, gradual quiet that is often the only sign that something has happened—the nightmares are back again, maybe, or Steve’s dad has invented some new bullshit to be a complete dick about. Billy reserves a cold, implacable fury for whatever combination of people and events taught Steve Harrington that he wasn’t allowed to ask for help.

Billy knows now that he used to deal with his own hardest feelings by pointing them outward, lashing out at the world. He cut himself on those sharp edges plenty of times ( _the sickening feeling of that plate hitting Steve’s head will live in his memory forever, even if Steve forgave him years ago, waved off his apology to lean forward, big eyes wide with sincerity, and apologize for not seeing what Neil was doing sooner. As if it was his job to see it, as if he wasn’t also just a kid with shitty parents, as if he wasn’t spending his time fighting different monsters. The side of Steve’s face still aches sometimes in cold weather, which Steve blames on the Russians, but Billy knows he’ll spend the rest of his life trying to replace the feel of that plate in his hand with gentle fingertips on soft skin_ ), but Billy was never aiming at his own heart. Steve, on the other hand, deals with his hardest feelings by trying to keep them from touching anyone he cares about. He tries to keep all the sharp edges on the inside, which is why Billy sometimes wakes up to find Steve’s side of the bed empty, and he knows that he’ll find him on the bathroom floor, knees pulled up, head in his hands, sobbing in almost complete silence. Billy will sit down next to him and pull his head into his shoulder and hold him until he’s done crying, and tell him to wake him up next time, and Steve will nod and definitely will not wake him up the next time. Steve is always there for everyone else—has held Billy through...all of it, has sat on the couch, Robin’s head on his shoulder while she cried about a bad breakup, has fielded endless calls from various members of the Party when things got too hard or too painful or too real—but he just never seems to expect that anyone would want to be there for him.

And then one summer night, a miracle. Or the beginnings of one, anyway. Billy gets home from the gym, showers, finds Steve on their balcony in a lounge chair, nursing a beer, staring at the sunset. Billy grabs his own beer, takes the other chair.

“Good day?” he asks.

“Yeah,” Steve says, not looking over, “it was...” and then he trails off. He takes a breath and he looks over at Billy and Billy notices that his eyes are shiny with unshed tears. He holds his breath. “No,” Steve finally says. “It wasn’t a good day. My dad called, and I don’t really want to talk about it, but do you think we could just...” Billy is out of his chair by now, beer forgotten, kneeling next to Steve’s chair and lacing their fingers together. Steve doesn’t finish the sentence. Billy reaches up with his other hand, cups Steve’s face, wipes away tears with his thumb.

“We can do anything you want, baby,” he breathes. Steve smiles, closes his eyes, touches his forehead to Billy’s, and Billy feels his chest constrict. He’s breathing past a lump in his throat because they have time, and they’re healing together, and maybe they can never really escape the past, but maybe this is what it feels like to gradually, painstakingly leave it behind them, where it belongs.

**Author's Note:**

> Look, I just want these idiots to get so much therapy and be ok. 
> 
> I'm @paperbodiesamongthestars on tumblr. Come say hi!


End file.
